She walks around to the front of the hotel and promenades to and fro, delivering her soliloquy quietly. There’s Ben. Over there. On the other side of the street. He’s with a group of people, Cat. Men and women.

He’s with Luca. Luca looks slightly pissed.

So does Ben. Who are the women?

No idea. They looked pissed too.

They’re with the American journalists.

Yes.

They also look somewhat drunk. They’ve bypassed the hotel and gone into that bar.

Yes.

Is that where you’re going?

Yes.

When Cat walked into the bar, which was smoky and packed, she was instantly relieved to see that in the far corner the women, whoever they were, were draped over the journalists. The swarm of people was as dense as at the finish-line media scrum but Cat squeezed and prodded and weaved her way forwards.

‘The Babe!’ Luca sang as she tripped and stumbled on her final approach to their party, steadying herself with a stranger and the edge of a table.

‘Luca!’ Cat beamed, trying to look composed, wondering why she couldn’t feel Ben’s gaze upon her, sensing icy stares from the women that the journalists were now wearing like football scarves.

‘You came to see me!’ Luca proclaimed.

‘Congratulations,’ Cat breathed, wondering if she was going to cry and whether it would be for Luca or herself, ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘Ah!’ said Luca, nudging Ben. ‘The Cabe McBabe came to see me.’

‘Actually,’ Cat heard herself all but interrupt, ‘I came to see Ben.’

‘She came to see you!’ Luca laughed.

‘Can it wait till tomorrow?’ Ben asked. ‘We’re taking time out here to celebrate.’

‘No,’ said Cat, not blaming him for his reserve though it hurt, trying to remind herself that he was still under the illusion that she was a two-timing fraud.

‘Have a drink, McBabe,’ Luca said ingenuously with a small hiccup, ‘sit on my lap.’

‘Your legs are far too precious to have my bum on them,’ Cat said jovially, before regretting such an uncouth comment. ‘Ben?’ she implored. He glanced at his watch and asked the group to excuse him. The noise level was very high and Cat could barely stay her ground for all the jostling.

‘Outside?’ she asked, making her way with pencil-sharpenered elbows through the mass.

‘Cat,’ said Ben, once outside but before she had the chance to suggest they walk to the seafront, ‘I haven’t really got time – I told you, don’t worry about it.’

‘We could go to the beach,’ Cat blustered.

‘Huh? I’m midway through a party,’ Ben said.

‘I know, I know – I just.’ She looked at him and put her hands on her hips, mirroring his stance. ‘You don’t know,’ she said emphatically.

‘Yes,’ said Ben, scratching the back of his head and glancing over his shoulder to the direction of the bar, ‘I do.’

‘No,’ Cat remonstrated with a light stamp of her foot, ‘it’s your hands.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You see, it’s your hands that I know,’ she shrugged, sitting in a deflated hunch on a low wall, ‘I know your hands, Ben.’